


What They Do To Guys Like Us

by thatdamnedrogue (waywardrogue)



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-05
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-02-03 11:45:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardrogue/pseuds/thatdamnedrogue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Washington is a Special Forces agent tasked to bringing in the "bad guys"- and when the bad guys are close to home, he must weave through a web of tricks and traps to bring them down. And he'll stop at nothing to achieve his goal-- after all the ends justify the means... or do they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Like A Bullet Through A Flock Of Doves

**Author's Note:**

> For Benbow, my Donut, without whom this wouldn't have happened. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also dedicated to my RvB roleplay group, who is always there for me.

There were always causalities. Washington knew that—hell, that was something he knew even before he joined Special Forces. It was a fucking fact of life, and even as he stood over the grave of a fellow agent, he hated it, but he knew it.

It was raining.

He hated it.

The blonde lit a cigarette before he turned to walk away. This was fucking ridiculous- agents going rogue, backstabbing—Oh it made it blood boil. He may as well have been seeing red-

_No, no, gotta breathe, David._ He scolded himself and shoved his hands into his pockets, walking back to his car. Maine was in the passenger’s seat- hadn’t said much since his accident. But he was Washington’s partner, his companion, and this—

They were on a mission now.

He flicked his cigarette away and climbed into the driver’s seat. The car purred as she came alive, and the two men were off.

Hunting was never easy. Tracking down traitors, spies, threats to their company… All the while, no one realized what Washington was up to. What he had planned. They still thought him the obedient _dog_ —

 

Oh how wrong they were.

 

ΑΒΓΔΕΗΘΙΣΩ

 

 

The days were long and uneventful. That was the first thing he noted, and remained constant in the young man’s journal. He cleaned. He cooked. He decorated. The others teased and criticized him. But it was alright, because they were his teammates, and his friends, and they were all kind of mean to each other.

And the lot of them worked well together, somehow. But even though they were meant to be a team, amongst themselves they were divided- Church led the boys across the hall, although they were pretty mean to one another, especially to Caboose, who was Donut’s friend. So it was Church, Caboose, and Tucker over there, and then Sarge had his boys- including Donut. All of them had some specialty within their little rebel circle, and it wasn’t even meant to be that way.

Donut gave a hum, eyes focused out the window. He had been writing in his diary again. It was raining. He liked the rain- it was soothing, in his opinion, and the best naps were had while the rain demonstrated such musical talent using the roof of their home. But his mind was too abuzz with thoughts and feelings for him to take a nap on a less-than-comfortable futon that served as his bed. He’d spent the day cleaning, but every time he found his mind drifting, he caught glimpses of things that could only be attributed to a wild imagination. Even still, he wanted to write it down- the man he’d seen twice in his dreams, started to daydream about-

“Donut!” The call broke through his thoughts, and he jumped, turning. “Donut, Sarge was calling for you- something’s up.” Simmons hurried from his doorway then, and Donut shut his journal, following after him.The entirety of their home was gathered in the main room- Sarge, Church, Simmons, Tucker, Grif, Caboose, and D—wait, where was DuFresne? Donut moved to sit beside Caboose, figuring their medic would show up soon-

“Doc’s been kidnapped,” Sarge stated, not bothering to give any warning before launching into it. “And we know just who’s got him. And if we’re lucky, they’ll kill him before he tells them anything.”

“He wouldn’t rat us out,” Donut defended. “Sarge, you know that. We gotta get him back.”

“It’s too risky,” Church interjected. “Not when we’ve got so much underway. We can’t afford to send someone in there to get him back. We’re gonna move- then we’ll worry about rescue.”

“If we rescue him,” Tucker muttered.

“Pastry, Doc will be okay,” Caboose patted Donut’s arm, though it did little to assure the blonde of his best friend’s safety.

ΑΒΓΔΕΗΘΙΣΩ

Washington put his hands on the table, leaning forward. He made eye contact with the olive skinned man who was cuffed across the table, who was stubbornly and resolutely refusing to say anything as to the whereabouts of his comrades.

“I’ll ask you _one more time_ , DuFresne. Where are the rest of your friends?” Washington enunciated each word, he spoke deliberately, his tone barely concealing the raging tempest beneath the surface. He was angry. He was hateful and tired and needed this to end. And if bringing those little bastards in meant he got out-

Well. He was going to go for it. Because Washington decided he was done with this bullshit, with the corruption and the lying, and he wasn’t above ruining someone else’s life for his own freedom. It wasn’t the worst he’d ever done anyway.

DuFresne still refused to speak. He looked terrified, but he kept his mouth shut. And Washington straightened up, expression cold. He stared the dark haired man down for a little while before he turned. “Maine. I’m done with him.” And he walked out of the room, leaving the nurse at the mercy of his own comrade.

The other agent wouldn’t play nice.

But Washington didn’t have time to care. He was going to go home, grab a shower, then come back and be ready to go hunting. That was his plan for the next hour or so, and then some, until he caught those fucking morons. 

The drive home was spent with his mind in a mess. It was like wading through a waste-high swamp. He was exhausted by the time he got home, and the thought of sleeping a few hours had become a recurring one. He reached the stairs to his apartment, and noticed someone waiting outside it for him. The agent paused then, one hand sliding to the gun at his back. The blonde sitting in front of the apartment door looked up, watching him with such young eyes-

Washington wasn’t about to be fooled though. He knew that face from photos- that boy was Franklin Delano Donut, and one of the people he was hunting.

“On your feet,” Washington growled out, gun pointed at the man clearly younger than himself. Donut complied, standing slowly, gracefully—offering Washington a small smile.

“You won’t shoot me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“You want to know where everyone else is. That’s why you took Doc.”

“Maybe I’ll shoot you in the leg and take you back to headquarters.”

“You won’t.”

The kid was trying his patience. Washington growled in his throat, never once moving his gun. It was Donut who broke the stalemate though, walking over and putting his hand on Washington’s wrist, gently pushing it down. He seemed so sure, and Washington wasn’t following the kid’s game. Was this a joke to the boy? Or maybe he was trying to throw the agent off by acting this way-

Donut was still in his space. Washington snarled and shifted, intending to bring his gun back up- but Donut was stronger than he looked, and it confused the agent for a moment. But only for a moment though, because he was putting more force into it when he felt lips against his own. Now _that_ was enough to throw the agent off, enough to cause him to freeze in the spot, blue eyes wide like a deer in head lights. Pink rose beneath the freckles dusting over his face and Washington did not know what to do. Just as quickly as he was there, he was gone-

Donut was gone, and Washington stood there for a split second too long before his brain caught up to the moment. By the time he’d twisted and run back down the stairs, the blonde was gone—and with the agent’s wallet no less.

Washington swore. He swore and hit the wall before giving chase. When he reached the sidewalk, though, there was no sign of Donut. Left, right, then back—nothing. Not a trace. Standing there in the rain, the adrenaline began to fade, and Washington felt exhaustion settling into his bones. He called it in- in case the kid tried to get in with his I.D.- before going back up to his apartment. Now, he knew he should’ve kept looking but he was tired. He headed up the stairs for the second time that night, and unlocked the door to his home, trudging inside.

Rain darkened an already light-lacking room. Washington hung his coat up, his mind tiredly muddling through thoughts- he meandered through the apartment without turning on a light until he reached the bathroom, where he flipped the switch and went about shedding his clothing. Suspenders, button up, tank top, slacks, belt, holsters- in a pile on the floor. Guns on the counter. For a moment, the agent paused, staring himself down.

Strawberry blonde hair with more gray than he’d like to admit for a man of thirty-six, freckles covering skin in no particular pattern. Scars- a few, but they were prominent- and blue eyes. Long fingered, calloused hands, muscled- not heavily so, much of it was lean and lithe. He was more nimble than anything—or he used to be, before he’d been shot in the back.

Washington ran a hand over his jaw, noting that he needed to shave- it could wait until the morning though.  He turned on the water in the shower, let it warm up, then shucked off his boxers and climbed in. They always say you do your best thinking in the shower, and Washington was no exception.

Only he didn’t focus on any particular thought too long- not tonight. His mind kept returning to that damn kiss. What a fool he was to fall for it- he berated himself. He needed to buckle down and find them all before the week was out- but as the anger fell away, he caught himself thinking more and more on it. _Blushing_ again, even, how distasteful. It took effort to push the thought away, but once he had, he was able to focus on washing and rinsing and getting out of the shower. Drying off, finding clean boxers, then falling face first onto his bed. His mind played through information again—the kiss again—everything until he finally passed out.

 

 

ΑΒΓΔΕΗΘΙΣΩ

 

“That was risky, boy!” Sarge scolded Donut. “You couldda gotten caught and then what? You think we’d come back for your sorry ass?!”

“…I knew what I was doing, sir-“ Donut tried to stay optimistic. “I know where they’re keeping Doc. He’s part of our team. We should get him back!”  


“Donut, you could’ve gotten hurt,” Simmons was much gentler, though still upset. “And we need you.”

“What exactly do we need him for?” Grif piped up, only to have Sarge hit him upside the head. Grif grunted and slid closer to Simmons, though he kept making smart remarks under his breath until Simmons elbowed him in the side.

“I won’t go alone next time,” Donut offered in exchange for the yelling to stop. Sarge didn’t seem to like the idea, but Simmons encouraged it with, “Take Grif with you next time.”

“Hey!” Grif huffed- and it led to the two bickering. It was a good cover- Donut slipped away to his room, shutting the door quietly behind himself. For a moment, he rested with his back against it, then he dug the agent’s wallet out of his pocket. Hurrying to his desk, he opened it up and emptied the contents- a hundred in twenties and tens, a few crinkled receipts, a business card for a hairstylist, a credit card, a debit card, a state-issued I.D., a government building I.D.—He lingered on the identification cards. “Agent Washington,” he read out loud to himself. “David…” A small smile. Well- this was what he was good at- people, that is. Donut had a way with them, with understanding and reading them like no one else on their team did.

Although it would be cruel to play the agent—it would be vital to their survival.  He felt a little guilty for the thought- which was a first- but it was kill or be killed now, wasn’t it? He wasn’t about to lose his life, either. It was game time.


	2. They're Never Gonna Get Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For my Reds and Blues, and my Maine.

The story behind their crew was puzzling to anyone—well, an outsider anyway. Washington’s office was proof enough of that. An entire wall was covered with articles, with information and photos. He took the time to learn his prey.

Although they worked together, there were two very distinct groups within them. The first was led by a Leonard Church. Church was an agent at one time—but after a botched mission somewhere overseas, he was labeled as missing in action, until he was caught on video with the rebels. That earned him the label of ‘traitor’, and why Washington was even hunting them in the first place. Traitors had to be dealt with accordingly, though he was starting to suspect Church didn’t remember jack shit. Even in his notes, he’d written ‘possible amnesia’—it made no sense otherwise, as to why they were being so underhanded. Church was the type to run in guns blazing, not attack from the shadows behind aliases and fake I.P. addresses-

Which led to the next of that team- Michael J. Caboose. The kid was an idiot savant, more or less, and Washington was sure if he ever had to deal with the guy, he’d shoot him. Caboose was young and far from average intelligence, but he had a way with computers that was damn-near obscene. He could hack into the strongest systems in under two minutes, and not leave a damn trace. He’d made things difficult, even after his signature was discovered by another agent—the guy was damn good with computers.

The third of their side was Laverinus Tucker- a suave fellow who didn’t care to hide a fact about himself. Tucker had an affinity for self promotion, and it worked well in Washington’s favor. In fact, he’d go so far as to say he knew too much about the guy—the only trick was, much of what was known was useless. Tucker was (as he claimed) good with women, a well known flirt. It was remarked that he was good in hand to hand combat, but a poor shot. Tucker had been the one to recruit Church to their little “rebel cause”—Washington wondered how they’d even met, although it didn’t really matter.

The three of them made up the first group. The second half was a bit more tricky- led by Sarge, a former soldier gone AWOL. It was said that he’d had a mental break on the field and just up and left, and no one had been able to get him back—well, that was the rumor anyway. According to the legal files, “Sarge” was killed in action. Washington scoffed at the carelessness of the filing, because it was obvious whoever wrote that was covering for Sarge, and no one had bothered to confirm or correct the information. As a soldier, Sarge was the type of man who would not be disrespected—his subordinates looked up to him, in awe and maybe even fear, in admiration. Sarge had been known to move the masses and inspire those around him-

Washington believed he’d snapped, though he wasn’t sure what triggered it. Having been a military man though, all of his information was on file- including the loss of the daughter he’d once had. Washington was almost sympathetic towards the man- almost. Sarge’s marriage fell apart, he went off to war—and broke down. Maybe it had all been too much. Maybe it strained the man’s mind beyond the breaking point-

Now he was the leader of this little ragtag group, who were trying to bring down those above him. Washington was tasked to removing the threat- but the more he knew, the more he found he wasn’t entirely against their ideas. Hell, they were providing cover for him without realizing it. After all, the best they could do wasn’t even the equivalent of his own skill on a bad day, let alone a good one.

Followed by Sarge were the trouble-two. That’s what the younger agents had taken to calling them, and for a good reason. Prior to being part of this greater cause, Dick Simmons and Dexter Grif were a Bonnie-and-Clyde-esque couple with an emphasis on the thievery. Neither of them had killed anyone, but between the two of them, had a good thirty-plus robberies under their belts.

The relationship they shared was—complex, to put it nicely. While they seemed to work together when it came time for a heist, outside sources said they bickered and butted heads more often than not. Washington just scoffed though- arguing or not, the two clearly had feelings for one another, as demonstrated by the fact that Grif had taken a bullet for Simmons on one occasion. He never saw a hospital though, no doubt in thanks to the medic who- until Maine had caught him- traveled with the group for quite some time.

Individually, neither Grif nor Simmons was much of a threat.  Though physically strong, Grif was lazy, and Simmons, though incredibly intelligent, lacked a spine- to put it nicely. Washington supposed they if they hadn’t ever met, neither would’ve gotten into the field that they did, and would be one less problem for him. But that was a “what-if” and would do him no good now.

The agent heaved a sigh and shifted. Simmons and Grif would need to be separated were they caught, and he wrote that in on his board of notes. He turned his attention then to the remaining two- Frank “Doc” DuFresne, whom he already had in custody, was a medical student, already a nurse but studying to be a doctor, who ultimately dropped out to join this little group. A pacifist by nature, he mostly flinched back and tried to shy away while Washington interrogated him. Doc refused to answer any questions, so now he was being held for obstruction of justice on top of a few accomplice charges.

Washington ran a hand through his hair, and moved the medic’s information down. He was in custody, and not a threat. His attention was brought then to the little shit who stole his wallet. Franklin Delano Donut- a former farm boy who ended up being trained by some less-than-savory organization, and- from what Washington could tell- the kid wasn’t afraid to play dirty. Information turned up nothing stellar about his life on the farm, so Washington could only conclude that once he’d been sent away, he’d been trained.

It was almost sickening to think, but the idea was pushed away with irritation. He had stolen from the agent, and Washington was not pleased with this. He had security doubled and waited for them to make a move.

Waiting was tedious and boring—but Washington had an unparalleled patience some days, and this was one of those days.

 

ΑΒΓΔΕΗΘΙΣΩ

 

Donut was already out the door before Simmons was running after him.

“You can’t be serious about this-“ the Dutch-Irishman insisted as he grabbed the shorter man’s arm.

“Of course I am. He has one of ours hostage. We _have_ to help.” Donut shrugged Simmons’s hand off his arm.  

“It’s a suicide mission alone, Donut.”

“They won’t catch me.”

“That agent is probably waiting for you-“

“Donut!” Sarge barked behind them, causing both Simmons and Donut to stop in their tracks and turn back. “Get yer ass back into the base. We are _leaving_ t’night and you can’t be off gallivanting!”

“No. I have to get Doc back. He’s part of the team.” Donut was resolute—normally, he wouldn’t defy Sarge, but on this he wouldn’t budge.

And Sarge recognized that. For a long moment, he was quiet, then he spoke again, “Alright, fine, but yer not going alone.”

 

 

ΑΒΓΔΕΗΘΙΣΩ

 

The knocking at his door roused him—Washington had been lost in thought, leaning on his desk, arms folded over his chest. His back was aching something fierce, but he didn’t think to take the painkillers he had. The knock on his door pulled his attention up and out of his thoughts, and he looked over.

“Come in-“

Maine let himself into the room and gave a guttural noise from his throat.

“I know it’s late. I’m still working.” Washington understood- between the look and the noise—yeah, he understood. Maine furrowed his brows at the other man and made his way to him. Another noise, and Washington shook his head.

“I’m fine, Bruce,” Washington insisted, even as the bigger man was tugging him close and hugging him tight. “I’m _fine_ -“ His voice faltered. He wasn’t really fine, or maybe he was f.i.n.e.—either way, his partner wasn’t buying the insistence of being okay, and Maine was leading him to the door.

The two of them had been best friends for years—before Special Forces, even. Then Bruce joined and talked David into joining… Shortly after, an accident robbed the elder agent of his voice, leaving him to grunt and growl and make nothing but short noises. David was the only who could seem to understand his friend, and they were finally assigned to be partners after that. It worked out well, as Washington had just lost his partner to medical reasons, and Maine didn’t like his previous one.

So while he insisted he was fine, Bruce knew better. They’d known one another long enough that he knew not to believe the little lies. And Maine wasn’t about to let Washington work himself into an early grave- he led the shorter man along to the parking deck and to his car. He would drive Washington home himself if he had to.

Once by the car, David gave in. He sighed softly and shook his head. “You’re stubborn… though I guess I’m not one to talk. …thanks, Bruce.” He offered a half smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Bruce frowned at him.

It was then that the lights flickered out, not just in the parking deck but throughout the building too. Washington swore and bolted back for the building, with Maine on his heels. He knew what this meant, there was no doubt in his mind-

The rebels had come for their comrade.

He wasn’t going to let them get away.

Washington and Maine rushed to the cell where Doc was being held—no sign of the rebels yet.

“What’s going on?” the prisoner asked, clearly concerned, though Washington would’ve bet money he was faking it.

“Power shortage,” Washington’s reply was curt and uninterested as he drew his gun and waited. And waited… and waited.

Nothing happened. The rebels didn’t show hide nor hair of themselves.

“Wait here,” he told Maine before he went to investigate. Up the stairs, he stayed close as he rounded the corner—but the other man was a bit quicker.

For Washington, the world went black.


End file.
